We Interrupt This Program
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: President Gerald R. Ford has died. Al follows through on a promise made to his CommanderinChief. Through his completion of this promise, the story of this friendship is told through recollections of past encounters.


**We Interrupt This Program**

* * *

This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and is not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author. 

Author's Note: The author wishes to thank Zealous Iconoclast who originated Al's sporting activity during the lunar landing. Permission to use this bit of information is gratefully acknowledged. Please read ZI's wonderful story "Other Eyes Smile Tenderly" to hear how this incident comes to pass. The author also wants to thank Al's brunette in Delaware who suggested the scenario for one of the most important vignettes in this story.

* * *

**January 1, 2007 - The Capitol Rotunda - 0000 Hours**

Thousands of mourners walked past the casket draped in an American flag. They came throughout the night, into the early morning and all day long. It was now midnight again, the beginning seconds of a new year and the Honor Guard was changing. Tall, strong young military men and women had the privilege of standing guard over the body the nation wept for, but this Honor Guard was different. He wasn't so tall and he left the world of young decades earlier. This Honor Guard was still strong, but his strength now was more internalized, strength of character, of ethic, of purpose. This Honor Guard stood at the side of a fallen Commander in Chief with whom he had a special relationship. People wondered why there was a 72 year old Vice Admiral wearing more ribbons than they had ever seen standing formal Honor Guard, but Al Calavicci didn't care. His hours guarding the casket were an honor requested of him by the President whom he called friend, Gerald R. Ford, the friend to whom he made the promise.

* * *

**December 26, 2006**

The news bulletin broke into **_Law and Order_**. He hated news bulletins especially since there were young men and women fighting a war he didn't particularly endorse, but then he wasn't all that thrilled about Vietnam and between two tours of duty and his incarceration in prison camp, he spent nearly 10 years of his life there. Oh well, he turned his attention to the news bulletin. At least it would be a new story, not a rehashing of old times.

The local reporter looked seriously into the camera. She quietly told her audience, "President Gerald R. Ford died tonight in his home in Rancho Mirage California. At his side was his wife Betty and, we believe, at least one of his children. Right now, we have no more information. Again, President Gerald R. Ford, the 38th President of the United States of America is dead at the age of 93. We will bring you more information as we receive it."

**_Law and Order _**no longer held fascination. Gerald Ford was dead, a Navy man, a Congressman when they met as Ford toured Annapolis and President when they met again after Al was repatriated in 1975. Ford took an interest in young Al Calavicci and was instrumental in encouraging NASA to take a chance on a man whose body had seen better days and whose mind had been tortured as badly as his body.

Al called out, "Beth? Beth, come here."

Beth walked from the kitchen with two glasses of wine in her hand. She saw the bulletin sign on the television. "What's happened?"

"Gerry Ford is dead."

She placed the glasses on the coffee table. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, babe." As she sat, her hand held his. "What happens now?"

His arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her into him. "I guess we're going to DC. A few years ago, he asked me to be an Honor Guard."

"Don't Honor Guards go through a lot of training for that? And don't they stand there for hours without moving? Al, you're in great shape for your age, but can you do that?"

Kissing her forehead, he told her with certainty. "He asked me to do this for him and as long as his wishes didn't change, I'm there, Beth. I have to be. He pushed hard for me when I got back from Nam. He's a friend. I still think about him coming to Balboa. If he hadn't, I don't know where I'd be now."

"He was so kind." Beth remembered when President Ford made a special trip to Balboa Naval Hospital, to visit the Calaviccis. The President made his visit very quietly. Until he showed up at the hospital door, even the people there didn't know the Commander in Chief opted to grace them with his presence. President Ford wanted to respect the tortured Lieutenant's privacy. "I'll never forget when he walked into your room. You didn't recognize him, remember?" She laughed at the faux pas.

"Good thing he had a sense of humor."

* * *

**April 5, 1975**

Beth sat at Al's side. The morning had been filled with tests and therapies and more doctors and nurses poking more holes in more veins and his incredible need for sleep was molested every time he turned over. The only good news so far was that he gained another seven ounces - only 45 pounds to go. The pain evidenced on his face and while he was now eating solid food, on this day, he just wasn't able to eat.

"Al, you're doing so well. You don't want to lose any weight now that you're eating."

He hurt badly, so badly that he flipped into prisoner mode and, as he had during his worst days of torture, switched out of his reality far away into his fertile mind. His need for this skill should have been gone, but it wasn't. Even so, he tried to remember where he was. Still, he had a duel consciousness of Beth. She was there with him, but she was also imagined. It scared him to think how crazy he was getting. "Please, tell me. Am I home?"

Her hand smoothed the dark curls hanging over his dark eyes and the dark circles around them. "You're home, honey, and you're safe." She held bones disguised as fingers. "I love you."

The kiss on his cheek brought him back to the hospital. A small knock on the door startled him and the pain he tried to deny smacked him upside the head. Al's gut churned and for the umpteenth time, he chose that moment to hurl. Beth got a puke bowl to his face just in time. The President decided to come into the room. He waited for Al to finish before saying, "I usually enter to 'Hail to the Chief.' You want me to leave?"

Al's deeply tanned complexion paled with the effort of upchucking. "Yeah, get the hell out of here. I don't want any more doctors."

Beth wiped Al's face and looked at whoever this new person was. "Hail to the Chief?" It took a second, but she finally recognized the gentle face of the President of the United States. "Oh, my God. It's President Ford. Al, it's President Ford!"

The name didn't ring true yet and the face had no meaning. "President of what?"

Mr. President laughed, "Your country, son, our country." There was a genuine smile for this young couple who were dealing with far too much. "I wanted to meet you, but if you're not feeling well, I can come back later."

Al looked into the man's eyes. "You really the President?"

"Yes, I am. Didn't want the job, but sometimes you have to do things because they're the right thing to do." He pulled a chair next to Al's bed. "You know all about that, I would imagine."

Beth remained on her feet, stunned into a statue. "Mr. President, we didn't know you were coming. I would have made sure Al hadn't had such a full morning."

He gestured for Beth to sit in the chair on the other side of Al's bed. "Looks like you're both a little tired. I won't stay long."

"Please, feel free to stay as long as you'd like." She still held the vomit-filled bowl. "Let me get rid of this, sir." Beth disappeared into the bathroom.

Al worked at getting his breathing under control. Puking weakened him and he needed time to catch his breath. President Ford sat calmly and waited. Finally, military training kicked in and Al attempted to salute, pulling his body into an alignment that might possibly look like standing at attention, if he was capable of standing. "Forgive me, sir. Lieutenant Albert Calavicci, sir."

President Ford gently pulled Al's hand back down. "Right now, son, protocol is completely unnecessary. This visit is about you, not me." The President held the emaciated hand and saw the healing scars circling Al's wrist. "You had a hard time over there. I read the report of your rescue." He put Al's hand on the bed. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you. I really believed all of you were home."

If there was one thing Al didn't want to talk about, it was being left behind. Halting speech attempted to change the conversation into something safer. "Sir, we met a long time ago. You visited Annapolis."

"When was that?"

The years in Al's life were jumbled together and dates weren't coming to him. "I don't really remember, sir." He was embarrassed by the gaffe. "I was an upperclassman, I think."

All the talking was making Al breathe heavy again. The President noticed the effort and waited patiently for the young veteran to get ready to continue. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall meeting you there, but I've been to Annapolis quite often." He tried to lighten the situation a bit. "We met, hmmm. I hope I wasn't rude to you."

"No, sir. You congratulated me on getting into Annapolis." Al quietly admitted, "I wasn't a typical appointment. I grew up in an orphanage."

President Ford thought back and he flashed on the meeting. "I remember meeting a cadet who was orphaned and led a pretty rough life. You're the young man living on the streets when you got accepted into Annapolis?"

"Yes . . ." A pain shot up his leg from the reconstructive surgery. "Yes, sir."

Beth returned sans yucky stuff and with a damp washcloth in her hand. She sat down and gently wiped the cool rag across Al's forehead. It felt so good that he didn't complain about the fussing. His astonished bride said, "Mr. President, it's such an honor for you to visit us."

"This is going to sound trite, but the honor is mine. When I read about your husband, I knew I had to meet him. To survive as he did is a true testament to your love and his courage." He took time to make eye contact with Al. "I don't want you to think we forgot about you while you were there."

So many times, Al believed just that. The world forgot about him and the few men still alive with him. Too often, the sheer hopelessness overwhelmed his spirit with astounding intensity. "I stopped wondering about that. Didn't get me anything."

"Lieutenant Calavicci, my words are going to sound hollow and I know that. I know you've been told, 'a grateful nation salutes you' and 'we're proud of the job you did,' but I doubt that means a lot to you right now."

Finally, someone who wasn't lying to him and to beat it all, it was a politician. "You're right. Can't say that it does." He closed his eyes against the sound of his mumbling speech.

The President sighed because he knew there was nothing he could say to this hero of that unspeakable war, the war that brought down a President and made a Congressman from Michigan the most powerful man in the world. "I don't want you to think we're going to forget about you now. I want you to let me know what I can do for you. I'm going to leave the phone number for my private secretary. You let my office know if you want anything at all."

Al feebly smiled at the President and said, "There is one thing."

"What's that, Lieutenant?"

A short attempt at a laugh gave him a little more energy. "I hear you play golf."

Happy to see a smile on young Al's face, President Ford laughed a bit more heartily. "I try to, Lieutenant. It's more like I play at it."

"Me, too. When I'm out of here, you and me, nine holes."

"No, not nine. Eighteen, but I'm old now. I need a cart. You okay with that?"

The world of the awake started to elude him and Al was barely capable of a slight nod and an, "All I'll need is a set of clubs." He gasped and started to float into sleep.

"Son, it looks like you want to rest more than you want to talk."

Once his eyes closed, Al's alertness shut down. He fell asleep. Beth apologized. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. He hasn't held that long a conversation with anyone since he got home."

Though he understood the depth of the comment, he changed the subject and said, "I didn't want to make a big deal out of coming here. This was a personal thing for me. Hopefully, you and your husband won't be inundated with questions about all this. I'm trying to keep it quiet, if that's okay with you."

The President looked at the sleeping Al Calavicci, his rest filled with grimaces, twitches and small sounds of pain. The kindly man realized that this fighter pilot was young enough to be his son and in his mind, he pondered what it might have been like to think that someone he loved as much as he loved his sons was missing for eight long years. "Mrs. Calavicci," then he remembered, "Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Calavicci, I'm very glad he had you to come home to. This would be next to impossible if he was alone."

She blushed and thanked him. "I had to be here. There was no other choice for me. He's so special and he doesn't know it. He's so very special."

"I can see that. You both are." The uncomfortable silence ended when President Ford stood. "Well now, I have my directives. He needs a set of golf clubs and we need a golf date."

Beth stood as well as she stammered, "You were serious?"

He took both her hands in his. "Lieutenant Commander, playing a round of golf with your husband will be a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon. You just get him healthy enough to go a few rounds."

Beth looked into the gentle eyes of the most powerful man in the world. "I will, but I need to know something. Did you mean we could ask you for anything?"

All of a sudden, the openness of his statement felt like it was biting him in the backside. "Well, yes, but within certain limits."

Beth withdrew her hands from his and said, "I understand."

"No, please, what do you want? If I can, I'll help."

She ran her fingers across Al's still bruised cheekbones. "He wants a shot at NASA. I don't think he can do it physically, but he wants to try. Commander Pappas doesn't want to approve the transfer, but it would kill Al not to have the chance. I'm not asking that he get in without qualifying. It's just that he deserves a chance to try. After eight years in prison . . ." Tears started flowing rapidly and without any ability to stop. "After all that time, he deserves a chance."

President Ford walked to Beth's side and put his arms around her, holding her through her sorrow as he oft times held his daughter Susan. "Yes, he does. He'll get it. I can promise you that. We'll get him a chance to qualify, but getting in is up to him." His gentle hand patted her back. "You're a strong woman. I admire you greatly. When that husband of yours and I are playing golf, I'd like you to meet Betty. You two are a lot alike."

Then it hit her. The President of the United States was consoling her. Pulling back, she apologized, "I'm sorry, Mr. President."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you felt you could ask me for this. It would be a shame for him not to get to play golf on the moon."

* * *

**  
December 27, 2006**

It had been awhile since he needed his service dress blue uniform and all the stuff that went with it. He hadn't taken his sword out in years and while not completely necessary, he was determined to go the distance. The ceremonial weapon was laid on the kitchen table. "Beth, I need some cleaning rags."

"You know where they are." The doorbell rang. "I'll get it." As she left the room, she reminded Al, "The rags are under the sink."

He gathered the things he needed and sat back down to clean the finish on the beautifully etched sword with his name neatly engraved on the blade. Other officers didn't know how to handle one even in peacetime, but during his academy days, he was a fencer and while his competition weapon was a foil, he still knew his way around a saber. He carefully wrapped the grip so that none of the paste from the blade would damage it. The metal began to shine under the gentle rubbing with the cleaner. It made the elegant etching stand out even more.

Beth came back in with a daughter in tow. "Gia's here."

Gia walked in carrying the latest addition to the Calavicci clan, young Master Michael James Beckett, a six-month-old with a mind of his own. Gia gave her father a kiss. "Hi, Dad. I'm sorry to hear about President Ford. Sam and I want to go to DC with you, if that's okay."

His attention was on his grandson. The littlest Beckett looked like a red-headed version of Al as a child, curls and all. "Hello, Mikey. You making trouble for your mommy and daddy?" Gramps' raspy voice always got a smile out of baby Beckett and today was no different. The gurgle with its accompanying bit of drool brought a laugh from the Admiral. "That's my boy."

Gia sat across the table, away from the sword and any danger. "I haven't seen that thing in ages."

"Me either. Just want to get it looking right for duty."

"Mom said you were standing Honor Guard. That's kind of rough, isn't it? I mean, you're not exactly a kid anymore."

His hand softly polished the blade. "So, I'm not a kid. He asked me to do this for him. He was the President of the United States and he was my friend. Would you expect me to go back on my word?"

"But didn't he ask you ages ago? I don't think he figured on living to be 93. I mean, Dad, you're 72 now. I think it's okay for you not to stand Honor Guard."

Too many people doubted his ability to do the duty he promised. "I will not go back on my word. This is important to me. Do you realize the honor here? The President of the United States asked me to spend a few hours guarding his casket when he died. Now, I'd love for you and Sam to come with us, but not if you're going to spend the time trying to talk me out of this."

Mikey started to close his eyes and Beth took him from her daughter. "Let me put the baby down in the crib. I'll be right back."

Gia handed over her precious cargo and asked her father, "How did he happen to ask you? Sam was wondering and I didn't know."

"It was after the lunar landing. We'd become friends and we were playing golf."

* * *

**July 18, 1981**

The golf course at Green Brier loomed clear and bright and, for the amateur golfer, a bit foreboding. Former President Gerry Ford set up his tee shot on the 11th hole. "Al, what's the par on this hole? If it isn't a four or better, I think I'm sunk." After a practice swing, he stepped up to the ball and pointed a finger at it. "Listen, I used to be the President. You better go straight and land on the green."

Al leaned on his driver. "You talking to golf balls, now?"

He took a last practice swing. "They make more sense than the Cabinet used to." A backswing and a follow-through later, they watched as the ball hit the fairway just feet from the green, took a bad bounce and deliberately rolled into a water trap. "I don't believe it."

"Man, that took a lousy bounce!" Al squared up his tee shot and with no more than a cursory practice swing smacked the ball in a graceful, arching shot that not only plunked down on the green, but rolled toward the hole, stopping about eight feet from the pin. "Damn, I'm good!"

"Unbelievable. When did you get good at this game?"

"I don't know, but that was one hell of a nice shot."

They started walking toward the water trap. "I've been meaning to ask you something. How come you threw a baseball on the moon instead of taking a golf shot?"

The entourage of Secret Police trotted ahead, around and behind the pair. Al watched as President Ford just ignored them. Al did too when he blithely said, "I couldn't chance playing golf like you up there. I can play catch. I didn't want to embarrass myself on national television."

"Makes sense." The former Commander in Chief looked to see if the journalists were lurking about. "Thank God. No press. All they'd need to see is me trying to get out of a water trap."

"Screw them. Let's see them put their balls to the walls."

President Ford broke out laughing. "Put their balls to the walls? There's an image I'm not sure I want to have in my mind. You have a way with words, Al, a real way with words."

Most of the time, they were Al and his buddy playing golf or having dinner or doing some such social event thing. Every so often, Al remembered who his buddy was and his "balls to the walls" comment suddenly seemed terribly inappropriate. "Yeah, Beth would argue that one with you."

They walked in silence for a few more yards. "You know, Al, I want to ask you something a bit more serious than golf."

"Nothing is more serious than golf."

"There are just a few things that might be up there." They reached a copse of trees and took the opportunity to grab a couple of cans of beer. "Al, there's a lot of protocol when you're an ex-President."

"I can imagine."

"Let me talk." He took a few sips of beer. "I'm serious here. I have to approve all sorts of dumb things like what will happen when I die."

"That's cheerful." The beer tasted nice and cool. "You have plans to die soon?"

"Not if I can help it, but when I do, the casket is going to do a stint in the Capitol Rotunda. They have an Honor Guard hanging around to be sure no one runs off with my corpse."

Al never got past his squeamishness concerning death and funerals. "I hate all that crap. Makes me want to hurl."

"I know you're not thrilled with things concerning dead people, but I have a request. When I die, there are going to be all sorts of Honor Guards standing over me. I'd like to ask you if you would be willing to do a few hours there."

There was no decision to make. He'd do it, but he asked, "Why? I mean, people train a lot for that duty. They'll be a lot better at it than I will."

"But I know there will be at least one Honor Guard who will be there because it's me, Gerry Ford, not the 38th President of the United States. It may sound silly, but when the time comes, I want the funeral to be personal for my family. I know there's the Presidential folderol to contend with, but being dead will matter for a few days to the country, maybe. It will be a lot more important to me and my family that friends are involved." He looked at Al and requested again. "So, will you be an Honor Guard?"

"Yes, I will. It means a lot that you consider me a friend."

President Ford placed the empty beer can in a trash barrel. "Yeah, well, a real friend would trade lies with me here. Then you'd get the privilege of taking a shot from the water hole and I'd be on the green."

"I wish I could help you out there, but you know what they say - there are no friends on the golf course." He watched as a Secret Serviceman waded into the water looking for the President's mislaid shot. "And you got lackeys willing to go ball diving for you."

President Ford winked, "Talk about putting balls to the walls!"

* * *

**January 1, 2007 - The Capitol Rotunda 0100 Hours**

It had only been an hour. He stood at complete attention. The Zen of his body separating from a spirit kicked in very quickly. It was a skill holdover from MIA days where being split from his body made the torture easier to bear. This wasn't torture, though. He simply knew that his body had its job, but his mind wanted to remember everything, every person walking by, those with tears, those too young to remember his days in office, Republicans, Democrats, so many races, so many beliefs, but all there to make this unique, solemn occasion a part of their lives forever. He concentrated on the hollow reverberations of a room where the abundance of marble bounced sound back and forth like a ping pong ball. A few people whispered about him and wondered what was that ribbon around his neck. Ordinarily, he didn't wear the Congressional Medal of Honor, but President Ford was the man who draped it around his neck. It needed to be worn. A few cell phones snapped pictures and while he didn't like it, he remained true to his task and stood Honor Guard.

* * *

**December 29, 2006**

The private jet held the Admiral and his family. The plane could hold twenty people easily, so when he wanted to disappear a little and take some time to be alone with his thoughts, he made his way toward the tail and settled in at a small dining area. He wanted some quiet time to try and find some solace at his friend's death.

Up front, Beth, Sam and Gia watched over the brigade of children. His youngest daughter, Allegra, home from college, sat in her own little enclave, reading a textbook. She looked up and noticed her father looking terribly alone and hurt. The book was closed and she went to his side.

"Daddy?"

The word sounded odd. Allie was nearly 22 now. She never called him _Daddy_ any more. "That's a name from the past. You haven't called me Daddy since you turned 13 and decided you were far too sophisticated for it."

She sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder. "It's kind of a retro chic thing now."

It felt good to laugh. "Being your _daddy_ is retro chic?"

"Well, retro for sure. Chic? Not so much." She snuggled closer. "I'm so sorry you're hurting like this. He was a nice man."

Nice didn't begin to cover it. "Do you know what he did for you back in 1986?"

"I was a year old. You think I'm going to remember?"

Al nodded. "Be grateful that you don't. It wasn't such a good time.

* * *

**September 21, 1986**

He checked the rear view mirror one more time. His eyes still looked wasted. Something about a dress white uniform made the red look harsher. The eye drops that cleared out the telltale red were forgotten at the hotel, but there was no time to go back. President Ford asked him to drop by the house. When an ex-President wants to see you, you follow orders. When the same ex-President happens to be a friend, there's nothing to worry about, not even red eyes.

The Secret Service at the gate checked his ID even though Al came around often enough to be familiar. "Good afternoon, Admiral. President Ford is in the garden, sir."

Al knew the way and saw his friend reading out by the patio. His clicking heels announced his presence. President Ford marked his page and turned. "Hi, Al. Glad you could make it." A handshake followed. "Come on. Sit down. Want something to drink?"

Too early in Gerry's world for alcohol, but last night's binge left him cotton-mouthed. "You know, Gerry, a cold glass of water sounds good."

The President asked the maid bring out a pitcher of ice water and two glasses. Once that little bit was accomplished, he turned to Al, "The dress whites look official."

"Got a meeting in San Diego at 4:30. I'll need to split around two. Even with the way I drive, it will take at least that long to get there."

The water arrived and Gerry poured out two glasses, handing one to Al. "You should be more careful driving. I hear that you're not sleeping well."

That was not a bit of news that should have been public. "Where did you hear that?"

"The Secret Service does my bidding, you know." It was an attempt at a joke, but Al wasn't amused. "Beth and Betty were talking. Your wife is scared. Did you know that?"

The water glass was empty already and he poured a second glass. "I'm fine."

"You're having a lot of nightmares and you're not sleeping."

Yeah, the nightmares started up again in full swing about a year ago, around the time he celebrated his tenth year home from hell. They held a party and everything. A decade home from hell and look what he'd accomplished! He'd been to the moon, earned promotions up to Rear Admiral, had four beautiful daughters, a wife who loved him. All was right, except it was ten years since hell ended and it was ten years before that he first went to Vietnam. All the tens came together and the dreams started again. Anytime his eyes closed for more than a few seconds, he was back there, his arms behind his back and tied to the top of a tiger cage, his legs folded under him. He'd have no food for days and the water was contaminated leaving him to deal with runs so bad that his gut cramped up more than his legs. Sometimes he was haunted by the dream where he was suspended by outstretched arms, his feet unable to touch the ground. That's when he felt the whips cutting into his back and he watched his hands turn black, but no one knew what the dreams were, only that they happened and when they did, he refused to go back to sleep. He stayed up and while he didn't dream, the memories would be enough to make him look to the only thing that helped him forget - lots of alcohol. "It will pass."

"What are the dreams about?"

He slowly shook his head. "I don't remember them." It was a lie and it sounded like it.

"I've known you for eleven years, Al. I know when you're lying."

The glass found the table. "Listen, if this is why you asked me here, then I'm going."

Gerry watched Al get up to leave. "You leave here now and I'll make a formal request for your resignation."

Anger flared like a flame licking gasoline. "I won't step down."

"Then I'll have you discharged. I used to be President. It wouldn't be hard for me. You won't have a choice."

The betrayal hit him and he dropped back into the chair. "You wouldn't do that."

"Try me."

"Why are you doing this? So I'm having nightmares. You live through what I did and try having a pleasant night's sleep. It's not going to happen."

President Ford leaned toward the younger man, "Listen, Al, I don't know how you managed to get through all that without the nightmare stuff happening sooner, but you're not dealing with it and it's going to kill you."

His heart pounded making blood push into his head in waves. Ford had to hear it. God knows, he did. It was about all he could hear. "It didn't kill me the first time around. It won't kill me now."

Gerry's hand reached out and landed on Al's knee. "It's not the nightmares that are going to kill you. I want you to listen to me. It's how you're dealing with the nightmares. You're drinking a lot and that's what is going to kill you." Al turned away. "Look at me. I know what I'm talking about. Betty went through it."

She did and way too publicly for Al's taste. It all seemed pretty arrogant of the press. Betty Ford was a great woman. She deserved some privacy. Al and Beth talked about how she stood up to the scrutiny and opened up the dialogue about alcohol and drug addiction, but Al Calavicci wasn't an alcoholic. He could stop, but he didn't want to. "I know Betty had a hard time, but I'm not her. I can handle the drinking. It helps with the nightmares."

"That's what you think. You need professional help and you're going to get it now."

He pushed the hand off his leg and moved faster than his hung-over brain wanted. The dizziness had him stumbling. "I have a meeting to go to." Storming off wasn't as dramatic as he wanted it to be. This conversation rattled him as much as the nightmares. His secret was out and not out to just anyone. It was out to a former President.

"You're not in condition to drive to San Diego. You can barely stand."

"You know, I don't have time for this."

President Ford picked up the telephone. He immediately began talking. "Admiral Calavicci is not to leave under any circumstances." Al spun around and stared, disbelief attacking his courage. The President noticed the reaction and went for the kill. "Take the battery out of his car if you have to, but he's not driving out of here."

"You son of a bitch."

The phone slammed down. "I've been called worse."

"No shit." He began to walk in circles like a rat not knowing which hallway got him out of the maze. Muttering gave him something else to do, "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

"You need help and it's waiting for you at the Clinic. You're going there from here."

"I don't need the Betty Ford Clinic. You want to pad the rolls, then find some other patsy."

The President stood nose to nose with the irrational Admiral, staring down at him. "You need help. You think you're hiding this all so well. I got to tell you, Al, you're not. I knew something was up last time we played golf. Betty and Beth have been on the phone a couple times a week trying to figure out what to do. Beth said that Sam Beckett caught you beating up a vending machine at Starbright. He's worried, too. Come on, you think all that's normal behavior?"

His voice rose in volume. "I don't give a damn!"

Gerry's voice rose even louder. "You have four daughters. You want to be alive to see them married? Hell, the way you're going, you're not going to see the youngest one get out of diapers, but that's okay. There will be enough people who remember you. They'll tell her stories all about her wonderful father who did all these courageous things. Too bad that the one courageous thing he didn't do was get help when he needed it. Oh well, I guess she'll get over thinking she wasn't worth her father getting help."

"You son of a bitch."

"You said that." With anger born of true concern, he demanded, "Sit down, now!"

Al sat, lowered his head into his hands and tried to remember how to breathe. He wasn't an alcoholic. They didn't know how to hold down a job. They ran away from responsibility, but Al Calavicci wasn't like that. No way was he an alcoholic. "I'll stop. I'll stop. I promise."

Ford poured Al a third glass of water and remained silent for several minutes, waiting for the right time to continue their conversation. Al made sounds like the President heard 11 years earlier at Balboa, sounds of pain, torment and the inhuman sound of a man lost. It was time. From across the patio, he started talking, "I know you believe that you can stop on your own. Maybe you can, but why not get professional help from people who care about you? You might not be an alcoholic, but you have a drinking problem. At the Clinic, they can help you figure out what's going on and help you find other ways to cope."

Croaking out words one at a time, Al tried to tell his friend. "It . . . it's all . . . the things they did . . . I . . ." With a violent shake of his head, he threw his guard up and hardened against the memories. No one would know what happened. Pulling in a huge breathe, he held it and slowly breathed out. Then he did it again. His lungs felt like he just ran a 10k in record time. "No. No. No! I can't tell any of it."

Gerry crouched down next to Al. "Son, you're in a lot of pain and I don't know how to help you. Beth doesn't know what to do. There are people at the Clinic who do know. They're trained to help, but it won't work until you want it."

Looking up into eyes that showed pure caring, the fragile Admiral said, "I thought I had to go today or else you were going to retire me."

With a smile and a pat on the back, Gerry affirmed, "I guess you better want it right now, then."

Admiral Albert Calavicci was not a man who cried. Girls cried. Wimps cried. Men who stood up to repeated jolts from a cattle prod didn't cry and he wasn't going to start now even if his eyes started clouding over. Rubbing his hand over his face took away the evidence, but he still couldn't look up from the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Damn, you think this about weakness?" Al's head turned farther down. "There's nothing weak about choosing to stay alive when life is treating you this badly."

His voiced whispered, "What happens now?"

"Beth is waiting at the Clinic. She has some clothes and things there for you. You're already signed into the residential program for 30 days."

His eyes opened wide, "A month?"

"It took you 11 years to get to this point. Thirty days is nothing. Beth will be with you. You'll see your kids. It's not jail. Actually, it's a beautiful campus."

The sensation was odd. Suddenly, he felt like there was a father in his life who wanted the best for his Prodigal Son. That scared him almost as much as the idea of treatment for alcohol addiction. The necessity to puke returned. "I need the head." He hurried off and made it to the bathroom in time. The cold water along with a lot of stomach acid flew out his mouth and nose. Dry heaves kept him bent over the toilet for another minute or so. The contents of the toilet flushed away and he washed his hands and face.

President Ford waited for Al outside the bathroom, a small piece of carry-on luggage in his hand. Al came out looking ragged and defeated. "This is a change of clothes. You're not going to the Clinic in your uniform. That's to protect your privacy."

The valise confirmed that this was the plan all along, but he didn't like it. "Why do you still think I'm going?"

"Because I know you realize that if you keep drinking because of what happened in Vietnam, then you're allowing those animals to still torture you." He punched out each of the next words. "They don't have that right. You can't let them have it."

It made a kind of sense and it scared the crap out of him. "But going there is like being in prison again."

"No, it isn't. It's a way for you to walk _out_ of prison - finally." There was more silence and Al headed back into the bathroom to change into his traveling clothes. Seems like he was going on a thirty day working vacation.

* * *

**January 1, 2007 - The Capitol Rotunda 0200 Hours**

The five minute at-ease respite from standing at attention did a lot for the muscles in his back. Standing still was hard work, harder than people might think. The four other Honor Guards seemed better at it than he was, but he didn't care - too much. Two hours were left to stand Honor Guard and it didn't seem long enough. Only two hours and his debt would be paid off. No, that wasn't right. Paying off the debt he owed President Ford could never be obliterated with a few hours of standing at attention. Stupid thought. He almost cracked a smile about the times they talked politics. Despite Al's liberal leanings, he saw enormous wisdom in this moderate Republican and adopted many of Ford positions as his own. Maybe that was the greatness in the man. President Ford didn't debate party issues. His concern was for human issues and there was never any disagreement there.

* * *

**December 31, 2006 **

Al knocked at the hotel room door holding a small box in his hand. It was 10:30 and he wanted to get to the Capitol Building before 11, the time he was due there. Sam answered and looked terribly surprised. "You're wearing your casual uniform. Aren't you supposed to be in the fancy one?"

"The Honor Guard is prepping it." Sam's wide-eyes asked why without saying a word. "I'll change there. There's a whole protocol about dressing for this."

"You big boy military types need help dressing?"

Laughing at the idea, Al had to admit, "Well, yeah, in this case. It's at least a two person process." Sam shook his head. Al explained, "The back of your shirt has to be tucked in a very specific way so that there aren't any creases showing through the jacket and a bunch of other stuff. It's a precision team and they want it precise. So, they'll dress me."

Sam closed the door behind him and they walked toward the elevator. "Nice that the boys take care of each other." He reached out for the down button and noticed the box in Al's hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

Al sheepishly nodded, "Yeah, he's the person who put it on me in the first place. Thought it would be okay to wear it tonight."

The elevator opened. "Can I take a look at it?" Al handed over the only bit of his uniform he would not let out of his sight. The black leather box opened up in front of Sam's eyes and the ribbon never failed to fascinate him. "This is incredible, Al. You can't know how proud I am of you, that you received the Congressional Medal of Honor. You really earned it, too."

"I got to tell you, though, Sam, if I had my way, I'd never be in a situation where earning that was possible. It wasn't something I'd ever want to do again and the ribbon isn't worth it." That came out wrong. "I don't mean that the medal doesn't mean anything to me, but that day, the reason for it . . . No, it's not worth anything like that again."

The events that earned Al this most prestigious award showed on his body still. Just over a year earlier, the scars from purposely inflicted burns on his back needed surgery to repair a section that was contracting and causing more physical pain. The torture never stopped. Sam could see Al flinching with remembered agony.

"I know it had to be terrible. I can't imagine what you went through, but I'm glad you got home. You've made a real difference in this world. I know you made a difference in my life."

The evening wasn't about him. President Ford was dead and he needed to concentrate on his friend, not his past. "You know, Sam, I never told you this. I was pretty sure you'd be mad, but aside from me, Gerry Ford made a difference in your life."

They made it to the lobby where a young Navy Lieutenant waited for them. The officer snapped to attention and saluted. Al returned the greeting with a military bearing that was so ingrained that it nearly frightened Sam. His father-in-law usually appeared carefree, laughing, eager to have to good time, everything that Sam didn't think the military encouraged, but every so often Al became the Admiral in front of him and it took him by surprise. However, when that happened, Sam easily recognized that his friend earned the respect of his rank.

Lieutenant Doug Anderson spoke, "Admiral Calavicci, sir, your ride is here."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He checked the time. "We'll be with you in a few minutes. You can go out to the car and we'll be along."

A second snapped salute accompanied a "Yes, sir," and a sharp about face. He made his exit.

Al pointed toward a couch at the end of the atrium. "I want to tell you about you and Gerry Ford." They sat down and Al began.

* * *

**August 19, 1987**

Sam and Al paced the halls of the Capitol Building. The committee wanted to cut the budget for Project Quantum Leap. Seems that a few people on the committee began to feel that there were a few too many billion dollars being handed over to a Nobel Prize winner and his buddy the Medal of Honor winner.

"What are we going to do, Al? They cut out two billion and there goes the archival system and we can't do without that."

He didn't want to add to Sam's angst so he very quietly acknowledged, "I know, kid."

Sam's pacing worsened. "I don't know what we'll do." Then he stomped a foot down with more anger than Al thought the kid had in him. "Damn it! They approved the budget before. They can't all of a sudden change their minds!"

"If they cut the budget, we'll figure something out. We'll skim costs from every line item."

"You know that's not possible. We sent them a bare bones budget to start with."

It was true. They didn't ask for frills even though Al would have loved an additional four million dollars for some amenities that would help maintain staff morale, but if they cut the budget, they cut the budget and that was it. They would have to rethink their methods and make do. "It's not the end of the world. We can still do what you're planning."

The anger growing in Sam blinded him to Al's truth. "That's bullshit."

Sam wasn't one to use the kind of peppery language that spewed from the Admiral so easily. Al was seeing how desperate Sam felt and tried to console him, cheer him up a little. "I know you think it can't be done, but we can do this. With your genius and my incredible charm, we'll be fine."

Turned out, Sam wasn't amused. "You don't get it, Al. This is my life's work. This is what I was born to do and they're taking it from me."

Al felt a bit of a sting. The project would be taken from _both_ of them. "We'll still do it."

His ire blinded him to Al's feelings. "You don't understand. How could you?"

But Al did understand. He'd been as angry as Sam at times, so angry that only his own reactions mattered. Now he was seeing what it was like to be on the other side of anger that intense. He didn't like it. "Listen, until we get some kind of word here, your ranting is doing nothing but raising your blood pressure." He poked a finger toward Sam, "And mine!"

Sam shut up and so did Al. It wasn't hard for them to figure out that they were yelling at each other because they wanted to yell at the Committee and that just couldn't happen. So they paced and paced more. Sam finally plopped down hard on a wooden bench. "They're doing this on purpose. They were supposed to call us in there half an hour ago."

Looking at his watch, he saw Sam was right. The meeting was for 11 and here it was a few minutes past 11:30. "They're not going to see us. It's too close to lunch. They break at 11:30 and won't reconvene until at least two. I'm going to get something to eat." He started to walk away.

Sam stared in disbelief. "You're leaving?" Al didn't even turn around. He waved his hand and kept walking. Slack-jawed, Sam muttered a few choice phrases about Al's parentage. "Fine. Walk away. I'll go it alone in there."

Al jogged his way back to their hotel and up to their room. He tossed his cap onto the couch and was thumbing through his personal phone book before he seated himself at the desk. With the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he unbuttoned his dress white tunic and dialed. With his butt finally in the chair he waited for an answer. A feminine voice greeted him. "Hey, there, Lisanne. This is Admiral Calavicci. I need to speak to the boss." She connected him through.

Across the country, in his office at Rancho Mirage, Gerald Ford picked up the phone. "Al, how are you doing?"

"I'm great, Gerry."

"Liar. You want something."

President Ford always could tell when he wanted something. "Yeah, well, you know I don't ask for favors often."

"You don't? What about that, 'you want to donate to the Trudy Foundation?' thing or the 'can I drop your name at Green Brier to get in a round of golf' thing?" The President laughed. "You want stuff all the time."

Confessing that he hit up the President a little more often than he should was hard to admit to. "Okay, so I ask for favors, but I swear this will be the last one."

Gerry laughed. "I'm supposed to believe that? I've known you for too long, but don't worry about it. I made the call."

"What call?"

He'd been President of the United States and Admiral Calavicci was a personal friend. When the Committee first started talking about funding Quantum Leap, they contacted the former Commander in Chief and asked for input. He'd had his hand in the funding mechanism since, but never told Al. "I didn't want you to think that the only reason you got the money was because of me. The Project is too important and you didn't need to feel obliged to anyone."

Al leaned back in the chair, stretched his feet in front of him and laughed. "Do you think I'd care that you were involved in getting the money? Hell, if I'd thought calling you earlier would have bypassed all this shit, I would have called months ago."

"From what I hear, you had a meeting scheduled this morning, but they're talking over the wisdom of cutting your budget in deference to my request. I have a feeling you'll be okay."

"Gerry, you're the best."

It was his turn to laugh. "Yes, I am, but now I have a favor to ask you."

The President could have asked him for a trip to the moon and Al would have flown to Dallas and started work on the moon shot. "Anything, you know that - even before the sweet two billion you got us."

"First of all, it's two billion, four million. I suggested that the amenities you wanted might be a good addition. You can thank me later."

The Admiral wasn't caught dumbstruck often if ever, but he couldn't say a thing. Stammering was about all he had. "I don't . . . What the hell? Gerry, you got us the health club?"

"You need someplace to keep your little hamster legs moving. Anyhow, I want you to keep my involvement quiet. Don't tell Dr. Beckett or anyone else at the Project. There'll be enough scrutiny from the Committee. Your staff won't need to think I'm spying on them, too."

"Sam should know."

"Not necessary. He needs to know that this work speaks for itself. You get that, don't you?"

Al thought for a little and said, "It's the most important investment this country has made in decades. Gerry, we're going travel in time. We're going to do it. No doubt."

He heard the commitment in Al's voice and knew they would be successful. "Beckett's a genius and you have an uncanny ability to annoy the hell out of people until they do what you want, so traveling in time is a given. I'm just glad that this science is in the hands of two men like you."

"I owe you, big time."

"You want to donate to the Ford Clinic Foundation?"

"Don't I always?" There was no request for the information, but Al wanted his friend to know. "I've been doing okay. The nightmares still come around, but not as much and my drinking is well within occasional social range. I really lucked out."

"You did and I'm glad of that."

Al had to smile. "No, you don't understand. I mean I lucked out having you for a friend."

At his end, President Ford had to smile, too. "So did I."

They talked for a few more minutes and Al made his way back to the Capitol Building. Sam hadn't moved or if he had, he ended up in the same spot, head down feeling the hard wooden bench on his backside. The scientist didn't notice Al's return until he saw spit-polished shoes appear in his line of sight. "How was lunch?"

"Didn't eat. Any news?"

It was the hardest thing he'd done in a long time, but Sam played it close to the vest. "Yeah, I got news. You interested?"

Playing his own role in the game, Al rolled his eyes. "Come on, kid. What happened?"

Sam's face turned upward with a smile as big as a four-year-old with a brand new puppy. "They called me in right after you left. Weitzman asked a few questions and then they approved it all, Al. Every last dime."

His skill as an actor paid off once in awhile. This was one of the _awhiles_. "All of it? You got all of it?"

Sam nodded, popped up from his seat and bounced like Tigger. "Not only did I get the two billion, but they gave us the four million you wanted for all the extra stuff." He ticked off each item on his fingers. "You're going to get the health club and the better commissary and the reading room and the café. You're going to get it all, Al. You're getting all of it!"

Sam's enthusiasm was amazingly generous. As much as he wanted his two billion, he was just as pleased that Al was getting what he wanted. "Kid, thanks. I can't believe you did it. I always told you that you didn't need me. You're good. Nothing can stop you. You know that, don't you?"

A tinge of a blush colored Sam's cheeks. "Nothing can stop _us_. We're in this together, just you and me and we're going to do it!" He punctuated his enthusiasm with a jump into the air and a "Hooyah!" worthy of the most SEAL of SEALs.

Al wanted to tell Sam that there was one more person in the mix, but President Ford didn't want that and he respected the man's wishes, but in his heart, Al knew how they got that money.

* * *

**January 1, 2007 - The Capitol Rotunda 0300 Hours**

There was one more hour to go. The time passed very quickly. He didn't want it to. Each minute that flew by meant his friend was one minute closer to being gone, buried, never to be seen again. He didn't want the time to pass. People still filed by, but too few of them knew the real man lying in state. He wanted to yell out to them. "This was a good man. There aren't many on this earth. This was a good man!" but he stood his silent vigil aware of only a few things. His heart was broken. His soul was tired. There was an emptiness. One more hour and then he had the rest of his life to mourn his friend.

* * *

**January 1, 2007 - The Honor Guard Changing Room - 0355 Hours**

While the Admiral stood Honor Guard, Sam Beckett received permission to wait for his friend and father-in-law in the changing room. He'd brought a book along. Though it was open on his lap, reading the latest James Patterson best seller didn't hold his attention. All he could think about was how President Ford was the catalyst that triggered Quantum Leap. Part of him was angry with Al for keeping the secret, but he knew that anytime Al made a promise, it was kept. It was a trait that Sam admired and emulated.

It was very late and his eyes were having a hard time staying open. He checked his watch. Five minutes to four. It was almost over. Al had done it. Sam stood up to stretch out his long legs. The next group of Honor Guards was making final preparations. It was an intricate dance, this dressing for Honor Guard duty. No creases allowed in the perfectly ironed jackets, trousers, blouses (yes, the he-men called their shirts blouses) and each button was shined to mirror image. He left the group to finish their arrangements and worked his way into the Rotunda in order to see the changing of the guard.

There in the center of the Rotunda lay the heavy casket of President Gerald R. Ford, a man whose commitment to his military men and women led him to recognize the miraculous return of an MIA given up for dead by all but one human being. This President valued friendship to the point of risking it for the sake of his friend. This quiet man, quietly used his profound influence to help two men achieve a dream with the only request being that Admiral Albert Calavicci stand Honor Guard when he died. This was the stuff of a true President, a man whose party ties had nothing to do with his love of his country and his fellow Americans.

Sam watched in awe as the team precisely exchanged positions. Al marched in step with the other Honor Guards as if he'd trained with them for years. Then five new men took their places. It was over for the Admiral and Sam returned to the Honor Guard changing area to meet up with him. By the time he found his way there, Al was sitting in an armchair that seemed to be there specifically for him. "You look beat."

"I didn't do enough, Sam."

"You did four hours. That's pretty good."

His legs suddenly felt heavy and he yawned for the first time that night. "You know what I mean. After all he did for me, I didn't do enough for him."

"Friends don't keep score of that kind of stuff. He was your friend."

Lieutenant Anderson showed up again with the same military salute thing going on, but at this hour, Al didn't bother with standing. "Admiral Calavicci, sir, your ride is waiting to return you to the hotel."

"We're right behind you, Lieutenant." Anderson spun off. "Damn, we do drum that protocol stuff into their heads, don't we?" Both hands leaned on the arms of the chair as he pushed himself into standing. "I'm not 25 years old any more, am I."

Sam yawned and had to agree. "Yeah, well, me either. Let's go. We'll need to get up soon enough for the funeral." He gathered up Al's casual uniform and gently pushed his friend out the door.

Together, two men walked out of the room, down a long hallway, out a side door, and got into the car. Al decided to speak first. "Thanks for hanging around. It was good to know you were there."

Sam thought a bit. "I bet that's why Ford asked you to stand guard. It probably felt good to him to know you were there." There was silence for a few more blocks. "Al, I want you to know that I'm really proud to have you as a friend. What you did tonight was really something."

"I stood for four hours. Big deal."

"It was a big deal."

Al didn't want to hear it. It wasn't enough and never would be. "Let it go, Sam." There were times when he could hear stuff like Sam was saying and times when he couldn't. Right now, he couldn't hear it. There was too much empty in him to fill up, but Sam was trying to be kind. "Sorry, kid. I'm tired and my legs hurt like hell."

"It's okay, Al." While he knew Al wasn't receptive, he tried one last time. "I'm also proud of you and the man you are. Ford may have gotten us the money, but you gave Quantum Leap its heart."

Al closed his eyes. "I gave mesons and neurons and that's enough."

"You gave much more than that. You always do." It was time to lighten up a little, "And when I grow up, I want to be just like you."

Without opening his eyes, Al smiled and said, "You mean _if _you grow up."

The car got to the hotel amid a hubbub of activity. Lieutenant Anderson opened the door, "Admiral Calavicci and Dr. Beckett, it seems that President and Mrs. Carter are checking in."

Al nodded and yawned again. "It's 4:30. Yeah, he has the best timing." He pushed Sam. "Get out. I want to say hi to Jimmy."

Sam's double-take ended with him staring into Al's eyes. "Jimmy? You call President Carter 'Jimmy'?"

"You know I do." He pushed again. "Get out."

Sam exited the car and followed his father-in-law into the hotel lobby. Security was tight, but the Admiral and Sam were well known. The duo made their way through the hotel staff and Secret Service. Rosalyn spotted Al first. "Jimmy, Admiral Calavicci is here."

Jimmy Carter turned around to see his friend walking toward him. "Al, good to see you. I hear you stood Honor Guard."

"Just finished." He held his hand out toward Sam. "You know my son-in-law, Dr. Sam Beckett. You two have a lot in common. Two smart boys. You both won the Nobel Prize."

President Carter held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Beckett."

"My pleasure, Mr. President."

Al was too tired to keep any kind of conversation going. "Jimmy, I'm beat. I'm going to my room, but I hope to see you at the services tomorrow."

"We'll be there, of course. Gerry was a dear friend."

"Yes, he was." Despite trying not to, Al yawned again. "See you later."

They smiled and nodded good-byes. Just before Sam and Al got on the elevator, President Carter called out, "Al, don't forget. You're scheduled for the Habitat build in New Orleans next weekend."

Al waved, "I didn't forget." The elevator doors opened and then closed with only Al and Sam inside. "Actually, I did."

"You're building a house next weekend?" It was promising to be a very long week and taking a nice long weekend to recover seemed far more sensible. "That's kind of a lot after all this, isn't it?"

"You'll find out. I signed up you and Gia, too."

The elevator door opened on the seventh floor. Al got out and walked toward his room. Sam's mouth dropped open and as the door closed in front of him, he called, "You did what?"

**  
THE END**

* * *

**Author's Postscript:** Those who know me know that I am a screaming left-wing liberal and proud of it. However, I have always had a deep respect and admiration for President Gerald Ford. His inspired leadership during that trying time in our history helped us recover from a tragic war and a corrupt Presidency. We owe him a debt of gratitude and I hope, had he the opportunity to read it, this story would win his approval. 


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